


The Lady and the Libertine

by lilybeth84



Category: Devil's Cub - Georgette Heyer
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybeth84/pseuds/lilybeth84
Summary: “Women are people, Vidal,” Mary told him, when he was trying to avoid spending any amount of time with his mother in-law. “It doesn’t matter if they are ladies or servants, or even whores--they deserve your treatment of them as a gentleman.”“You said I wasn’t a gentleman,” Vidal pointed out, but she only ignored him.“Even my mother and sister deserve your respect.”He hadn’t believed her that last one, but he was willing to try. He’d do anything for her.
Relationships: Dominic Alastair/Mary Challoner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Lady and the Libertine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/gifts).



“At last this haughty woman is conquered, who dared think she could resist me.—She is mine—totally mine.”

from _“Les liaisons dangereuses”_ Written by Choderos de Laclos and translated by Thomas Moore

It was at one of the season’s many routes, the first time Mary Challoner saw Dominic Alastair, Marquis of Vidal.

It was a fine May evening, the warmth of the day having given away to a cooler evening; spring was still very much upon them with summer peeking through here and there during the lengthening evenings.

Sophie, having been unable to make up her mind to which dress she wanted to wear, had made them late. Eventually she was persuaded to wear her blue robe, which set off her eyes and made her ringlets look like sunshine. Mary had donned a simple robe a l’anglaise in a dusty rose color with matching silk dancing slippers; her shining chestnut hair was curled and lightly piled atop her head

They had arrived to find the house crowded already fashionably crowded, perfumed with the scent of patchouli, sweat, and excitement-the excitement of possibility. What sort of possibility, Mary did not think too hard upon, for she knew it was something she was not supposed to know. But even with her lack of experience she was not ignorant.

So when she saw him she knew what it was-the atmosphere of sensuality and lust sweeping over her, wrapping her in its seductive warmth. He stood out from his more brightly clothed companions wearing a dark coat and cream colored silk pantaloons. His coat did not have the large circle-like skirt that most other gentlemen wore, and his hair, while powdered, was only lightly so.

The first thing that specifically struck her about him was his hands. They were white with long fingers, and un-gloved, his nails meticulously trimmed by an even more meticulous valet.

It had to be the valet, Mary thought. No man who cared so much for his appearance would let leave the house with his hair so thinly powdered. And expensively powdered it was, and richly scented with ambergris, for that was the second thing she noticed. He smelled divine; of ambergris and bergamot.

He was introduced to Mary first, being the eldest. She’d lifted her hand so he could take it, but his hand and his gaze had already moved over and beyond her. it was on Sophie that his eyes landed and stayed. It was not Miss Challoner’s hand he took into his that night, but the younger sister’s. If it had been anyone other than the Misses Challoner, it might have been considered rude, but no one gave it much thought.

Well, that wasn’t precisely true. Mary gave it a thought; a brief nod to an old pain that had been tucked neatly inside her heart, only to twinge every so often such as at times like these. No one else noticed when Mary discretely placed her hand on her cheek-and then tucked a non-existent curl behind her ear, swallowing down her hurt.

It was a practiced move, her hand straying to her cheek, and well known to its owner. Rejection didn’t usually hurt so much anymore, but for some strange reason this one did. It hurt a lot and would continue to hurt every time she saw him.

She felt silly to be so jealous, but Mary could never help feeling faded next to Sophy. Any man who might have afforded her a second glance was always taken in by the brighter star that was her sister. Sophia, with her gold ringlets and large blue eyes, was so astonishingly lovely. How was Mary to compete, especially when she was not adept at flirting or small-talk? She was definitely not charming, but nor did she wish to be.

Still, she thought wistfully, later that night when she was in bed, trying to sleep. It would be wonderful to be noticed and flirted with, even once. Just once she wanted to be seen for herself.

But no one ever did-other than Cousin Joshua, and he didn’t count.

But Mary noticed the Marquis. She noticed him and never stopped noticing him. Everywhere they went-the park, balls, routes-then when he began to call on Sophy home. it didn’t matter; Mary always saw him and he always saw Sophy.

She didn’t even like him-at least at first. Sophy rather did like him, or at least she liked his title.

“He’s not as handsome as Dennis O’Halloran,” Sophy would say.

Privately Mary couldn’t see how Dennis O’Halloran even compared to the Marquis Vidal, but she kept this thought to herself.

The more she watched him, the more she liked him. He was sardonic, intelligent, and commanding. He was also shallow and cared little for the feelings or reputations of others. She’d heard about the duels and the drinking, and while it bothered her, she was sure he was just bored and needed something to do. Someone needed to take him in hand, give him a purpose.

When the letter came for Sophy, she tried to convince herself it was completely for her sister’s benefit that she stole away in her place. Of course, that was not true, and somewhere deep within a tiny corner of her heart, she wanted him to see her, and she felt this was the only chance she had to make that happen.

What Mary didn’t know-indeed there would have been no reason for her to even suspect-was that the Marquis Vidal had noticed her. Even as his eyes had slid to the more vibrant sister beside her, he’d seen the way her hand had lifted in expectation and then upon rejection, placed upon her cheek. Out of the corner of his eyes, he’d watched how she’d blinked twice, swallowed, and turned away to greet one of the Matcham sisters.

That action had done something to him, something he had not liked. He had not recognized the feeling until much, much later and that it had been shame. For the first time in his life he’d felt shame and it was not something he was glad of, though it had been small and brief.

He had never given much thought to the women in his life, other than his mother and his cousin Juliana. The others, they flitted in and out serving their purpose to his sexual urges like butterflies amongst the flowers, beautiful for a moment and then gone.

Of course he’d soon, rather conveniently, forgotten how he met her and only saw the disapproving spoil-sport related to Sophia Challoner. The chit was never far away, so Sophia’s virtue always remained intact, though not for a lack of trying. Truth be told, Vidal was getting tired of the pursuit. But he didn’t give up the things he wanted and he wanted Sophia Challoner. But now matter how deeply buried in his mind, how could he forget the first woman to make him feel guilty?

And then she had shot him and he had remembered her; he had immediately sobered. Was this what he was like when he drank? He had threatened-no not threatened, he’d had intent-to take her and he hadn’t cared that she’d said no. In his experience, that’s what coquettes said when they played the game of love.

At least that was always what he’d thought. If a woman wasn’t a lady she had always been fair game. But Mary wasn’t a coquette nor was she vulgar. For the first time in his life he’d questioned his assumptions of gentility and class. His mother had not been gently bred though she’d been the daughter of a Count, and he was more like her than his father. Mary was the daughter of a cit but was a lady in everything, and was much more like his father.

Even after their marriage he was confused by it all, especially when he was around her family.

“Women are people, Vidal,” Mary told him, when he was trying to avoid spending any amount of time with his mother in-law. “It doesn’t matter if they are ladies or servants, or even whores--they deserve your treatment of them as a gentleman.”

“You said I wasn’t a gentleman,” Vidal pointed out, but she only ignored him.

“Even my mother and sister deserve your respect.”

He hadn’t believed her that last one, but he was willing to try. He’d do anything for her.

* * *

It was the night of their mutual confession that all that was hidden away came out.

Dominic had pulled her outside and into a secluded doorway towards the back of the inn. Mary, overcome, had let him. The stars were bright, the air warm, and she was giddy with love and that strange sensation of desire that she had been warned of her entire life.

“But Dominic-”

But he already had her pressed up against the door, his hands on her waist, the wooden slats pressing into her back. He tilted his head down so his cheek was pressed against hers, his breath fluttery in her ear.

“Don’t worry.” He took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked gently. “I just want to hold you...kiss you...” He nipped her lower lip and tugged at it. “I can wait...indeed it would be a precious thing to destroy so callously.”

“What?” Mary murmured as his lips moved down her neck. His hands were under breasts, thumbs pushing up into the soft flesh beneath her stays and pleasure rippled through her. She slid her hands up his arms to his neck and then to his cheeks, and when she lifted his head from her shoulder, she looked into eyes. But it was too dark; the lamp light from the window was too far. “What do you mean?”

“Your virtue, Mary.” His voice was husky and deep. “I will not shame you or myself by taking you up against a dirty inn door the first time I make love to you.”

“Oh.” She felt her cheeks heat up and tugged at his waistcoat, glad he could not see how red she became. She suddenly felt a thrill of nerves at the thought of consummating her marriage. “Is that because I’m still chaste or because I will soon be your wife?”

He pulled away from her and she felt suddenly cold in spite of the warm night.

“What do you mean by that?”

Mary frowned. “Only that if you were seducing me without marriage in mind-”

“I told you I don’t make a habit of seducing ladies.”

“And my sister-” She cut off, immediately regretting mentioning her sister. Sophie was still there between them. She flushed, angry with herself and him.

He didn’t seem to notice, his eyes narrowing. “Your sister is a coquette and a minx, and was very willing to run away with me to Paris, to be my mistress.”

“But she would have been ruined,” Mary protested. She could hear the desperation in her voice and despised it, but she wanted him to see, to understand her.

Dominic stared at her; his eyes had grown cold and she felt them like ice against her skin. It was devastating.

“I never promised her marriage. She understood the consequences.”

Mary felt suddenly drained. It was very likely that Sophia cared more for society and fashion than she did her reputation, and she probably would have been very happy to become Dominic’s mistress and live in Paris. But it was still intolerable.

“But what about after you were done with her?” Mary placed her shaking hand on her cheek. “What would have become of her?”

“She would have found another protector like all courtesans, for a courtesan she would most surely be.” Dominic replied stubbornly. “A woman like Sophia will always land on her feet.”

“And eventually they don’t. They die of disease and-and-” she broke off, unable to continue.

“If not me, it would have been someone else.”

“Yes, someone else,” Mary whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. “But not you.” She took a shuddery breath. “Not you.”

The silence between them was agonizing as he stared at her, expressionless. Then he gently took her hand away from her cheek, surprising her. She hadn’t known she had put it there. He didn’t let go, but held it in his.

“You cared that it was me?” He asked, frowning slightly. “But you didn’t know me, why would my seduction of your sister bother you so much, over any other man? I thought you despised me.”

Mary swallowed hard. She knew she would have told him eventually, but she had not expected it to be this night of all nights.

“Mary?” His voice had taken on a strange quality. He placed his fingers under her chin with his other hand and tilted her face up so she couldn’t look away.

She felt so fragile, so vulnerable; still she spoke. “I have loved you since the first moment I saw you--you were so magnificent and I--I had never seen any man like you before.” She didn’t look at him, but spoke to his cravat. “It was the Matcham ball. We were late. I was introduced to you first, before Sophia, but you passed right over me and--”

“--kissed Sophia’s hand instead,” Dominic finished softly, his eyes not seeing. “Yes I remember.”

Mary startled, her mouth dropping open as she looked up at him. “You do?”

Dominic bent his head and met her gaze. “Yes, of course.” He let out a huff, a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “You made me feel ashamed for the first time in my life; the only person other than my father to ever do so. How could I forget?”

Mary was in disbelief. “You noticed me? I was sure I had made no impression--”

“No, no,” Dominic interrupted stepping back. “Do not think me better than I am. I did not dwell on that shame, I dismissed it; I dismissed you.” He dropped her hand, took a step back, and began to pace. “I only noticed you again because you were in my way. I wanted Sophia because she would give me what I wanted with very little persuasion. You--” He stopped moving and pointed at her. “I told you, you were a lady. I was not interested in proper, straitlaced ladies. Especially ones that frowned disapprovingly at me, all Prunes and Prisms.”

Mary couldn’t laugh. Tears gathered hot behind her eyes and her voice was wretched when she spoke. “I was not pretty enough for you to see me.”

“No, you weren’t pretty Mary,” he agreed softly. “Not then.”

She knew that, but she felt herself begin to crumple inwards regardless. It was an old pain, but now it mattered because it was Dominic. It mattered very much.

He must have seen something in her face because he took her by the elbows, cradling them in his palms. “But now you are beautiful. It’s strange how that works--love” he said almost ruefully. “It completely changes a person.”

Mary tried to gather herself, and shook her head stupidly. “But I didn’t change.”

Dominic smiled then, his familiar mocking smile, though Mary didn’t feel that it was directed at her. “No, but I did.”

As understanding overwhelmed her, she let out a shuddery breath, the tension draining from her. “Oh, I see. I understand.”

“Do you?” There was a hopefulness in his voice; a child-like quality that made her ache to take him in her arms. “Because from the moment you shot me, I started to change. I began to love you as I have never loved anyone. I have never loved any woman, Mary. I didn’t know what it was I felt.”

The tears that had gathered behind her eyes slipped down her cheeks.

“You know who I was and who I am trying to be.” He still looked uncertain, and when he spoke again there was an uncharacteristic hesitancy about him. “You were once terrified of me.

“Yes, you were quite frightening.”

“And now?”

“You’re still terrifying, but not because I’m afraid you will hurt me.” She struggled to find the right words. “You are so--alive and so bright, I do not know how I can keep you?”

“You vastly underestimate yourself,” Dominic scoffed gently. “If I am a bright star, you are the dark velvet of night, wrapped around me.”

She left out a little sobbing laugh. “Poetry! From you?”

“I have some,” he admitted. “I have never had need to use it as a seduction technique before now”

“And you never will again!” She retorted. “Because if you try to seduce another woman,” she continued sternly, though the effect was quite poor when there were tears on her cheeks, “I shall shoot you again.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Dominic agreed seriously. “But I assure you I have no desire to tell any other woman what words I have in my heart.”

Then he took her hand and slipped it between the silk of his waistcoat and the thin linen shirt so it was pressed against his warm chest. She gasped at the intimacy of it, her eyes flying to his, her lips parting.

“They are only for you, my love.”

His lips covered hers, warm and demanding, and she kissed as thoroughly as she had ever wished to be.

After a time, he pulled away and stroked her cheek with one long finger. "If it matters so much to you, I help you protect your sister."

Mary gave a small smile. "How can I protect her from herself?"

His eyes flashed and his thin lips turned up at the corners. "You already have...at least once."

"And trapped myself in the process." She sighed and lay her head against his chest as his arms wrapped around her. "Wonderfully trapped."


End file.
